


Shop Talk

by sparkycap



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkycap/pseuds/sparkycap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron makes a habit of taking his kid grocery shopping when the store is as empty as possible. It's not because Ron hates people, and it's not because he's scared of them. It's because his kid - his sweet, gregarious, ridiculous kid - wants to talk to every single person he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shop Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whip_pan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whip_pan/gifts).



> A quick snapshot into the life of stay-at-home dad Ron and engineer Carwood, because whip-pan mentioned this scenario and I couldn't resist. Carwood doesn't actually make an appearance but their relationship is certainly a presence throughout, given that they're married with a kid and all.

People tell you a lot of things when you have kids, about the diapers and the sleepless nights and the endless crying. They tell you about the pacifier, the battle to give up the pacifier, and which sippy cups are the best. They tell you about how you’ll feel the first time you hold your child, the first time they say your name.

No one ever tells you about the grocery store trips.

There’s a certain point, when your kid knows how to walk and talk but not how to remain calm and resist throwing a tantrum when you say no, that the supermarket becomes actively hazardous. It’s too distracting, too tempting—the disorienting bright colors, the well known cartoon characters waving from the front of cereal boxes and fruit snacks—and, in Ron’s case, all the _people_.

Because his kid, his sweet, gregarious, ridiculous kid, wants to talk to _every single_ one of them.

Ron has made a habit of coming on weekday mornings, when the grocery store is the least crowded, in an attempt to manage this problem. And yet here he is, in the middle of the bakery, having a stare down with his son.

Jamie looks at him solemnly from the carriage.

Ron stares back.

“Wanna get down,” Jamie says. There’s a mother with her baby standing by the muffins. Jamie doesn’t say, but no doubt that’s where he wants to go.

“No,” Ron says, for the twenty-eighth time since they entered the store. “You just want to run away.”

“ _No_ ,” Jamie says insistently. He even looks a little distraught. “Wanna stay with you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ron says. “You want to drag _me_ all over the store _with you_ and bother strangers.”

“Not bother,” Jamie denies. “Make friends.”

Ron frowns. “Don’t they teach you about stranger danger in kindergarten?”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “ _You’re_ here. You won’t _let_ strangers take me.”

Not exactly the most cautious attitude his kid could have, but Ron can’t deny the warm pride welling in his chest. Maybe he’s fucking up as a father in every other way, who knows, but at least his kid feels safe with him. He drops a kiss to Jamie’s nose just to watch him scrunch his face up, and says, “You’re right. But you’re still not getting down.”

“Papa would let me down,” Jamie mutters petulantly at the floor. Then he looks back up at Ron with wide, bright eyes, like the idea has just occurred to him, and says, “I want Papa.”

“Ouch,” Ron deadpans. It’s a joke, sure, humor he tends to forget his kid doesn’t understand, but it’s not entirely unfounded. Being second choice is not the best feeling in the world, even when the kid will change his mind in five minutes. “Papa’s at work, remember?”

“Right,” Jamie says, sighing. He’s quiet for a moment, slumped over in the cart with his chin resting on the backs of his chubby little hands. Ron starts moving again, heading toward the bagels. Jamie starts swinging his legs, tilting his head sideways to look up at Ron. “Daddy? Why don’t _you_ work?”

“You sound like my mother,” Ron mutters without thinking. Then he clears his throat. “Someone’s gotta take care of you, kiddo, or you’d be running off with strangers in the grocery store all day.”

“Wanna stay with you,” Jamie repeats.

“Yeah, well, so do I,” Ron says, as good an answer as any to Jamie’s question, darting a hand out to tickle him lightly. Jamie jumps and pushes at his hand, trying to lean away, bright peals of laughter echoing through the aisle as he kicks his feet reflexively. Ron smiles.

Then Jamie says, “Daddy, down.”

“I feel like we just had this conversation,” Ron says.

And Jamie isn’t quite old enough to understand that, but he seems to get the gist of it, because he switches tacks. “Up?” he asks hopefully.

Ron bites his lip, torn. Jamie is too clever for his own good—it’s probably not an innocent request. It’s not like he just wants out of the carriage; he specifically wants to get on the ground. There’s a plan here. Except then Jamie’s face crumbles a little and he says, “ _Hugs_ , Daddy.”

“Well, I suppose that’s okay,” Ron reasons. He pauses to lift the kid out of his seat, propping him on his hip and hugging him close with one arm. Jamie winds his arms around Ron’s neck and settles his head to Ron’s shoulder with a happy sigh.

For a while, that’s enough. He makes it through another third of his list while Jamie plays with the buttons on Ron’s shirt. He occasionally gets distracted, ducking his face into Jamie’s dark hair and savoring how well bath time had gone last night, leaving it clean and soft and vanilla scented. Then Jamie drops his stuffed whale on the floor, and Ron has to juggle a box of cereal and a child while he bends to pick it up. And then Jamie sniffles a little, upset about dropping his whale, and Ron has to promise him it’s not dirty, that they can wash it after if he really wants, that Captain Killer isn’t going to be mad at him for dropping her. But it’s fine. Ron’s handling it, he’s totally focused on his shopping, he doesn’t at all take an unnecessary amount of time out to rain kisses over Jamie’s face until he smiles again.

“Excuse me,” someone says behind them.

Ron stops. His expression smooths out, an automatic response to most people talking to him, and he turns. “Yes?”

A short lady with white hair and cat-eye glasses is peering up at him. She’s wearing a long floral skirt, fingers fiddling with the locket at her neck, and giving him something of an amused smile. “I don’t mean to be rude, but did I just overhear you calling that stuffed whale Captain Killer?”

“Ah,” Ron says. He looks down at his son, who is smiling brightly at the newcomer like all his dreams are coming true, and thinks wryly that even when Jamie doesn’t get his way, he gets his way. “I can see how that could be cause for concern. Jamie, you want to show her your whale?”

Jamie perks up in Ron’s arms, leaning forward and waving his whale in the air. He tells her excitedly, “She’s a captain!”

“It’s a killer whale,” Ron explains. “And she started out as Captain of the Killer Whales, but somehow that didn’t stick.”

The lady hums, smile still twitching at the corners of her lips. “Perfectly understandable.”

Ron falls silent, never one for small talk, never sure what to do in this sort of situation. Jamie, who has always babbled enough for both of them, says, “Do you like whales, miss? They’re my favorite. I’m gonna be a scien—scie—“

“Scientist,” Ron offers.

“—a scientist when I grow up. Like my papa, but he doesn’t play with whales. I’m gonna play with whales.”

“Is that right?” the woman asks, smiling fully at him. “Well, I can’t say I’ve thought much about whales, but you’ve convinced me. They must be the best.”

Jamie nods hard. “They are.”

“And you, you’re a scientist?” she asks Ron.

“God, no,” Ron says, before he can think better of it. “No, he’s talking about my husband.”

“He’s an en-gi-neer,” Jamie tells her, carefully sounding out each syllable of the word. “He’s the smartest person in the world.”

Ron smiles fondly. If there’s one thing his kid inherited from him, it must be his regard for Carwood.

“I don’t doubt that,” the lady tells Jamie. Eyeing Ron curiously, she asks, “And what do you do?”

“This,” Ron says, bouncing Jamie on his hip until he giggles. “Raise my son. It’s something of a full time job.”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised. She says delightedly, “How very modern of you.”

“In more ways than one,” Ron agrees. She gives him a knowing smile.

“Daddy was a soldier,” Jamie interjects innocently. His hand pats over Ron’s chest where he still wears his dog tags, more out of habit than anything. “He’s a captain, like Captain Killer.”

“Well, that makes sense,” the lady mutters to herself. Ron’s not sure if she means the whale’s rank or his service record. Before she can elaborate, another woman calls from one aisle over, “Ruthie? Did you get distracted making friends again?”

“Just one second, sweetheart,” Ruth calls back. She gives them one last kind smile, ignoring Ron’s now shrewd gaze, and says, “It was nice to meet the both of you. Oh, I’m sorry, Captain—the three of you.”

“Bye!” Jamie chirps, cheerful as ever.

Ron watches as she makes her way to the end of the aisle. Another woman, her gray hair done up in an elegant twist and carrying a heavy basket, meets her there. They twine their fingers together like it’s second nature, leaning close as they speak. He finds himself staring after them as they start to move toward the check out.

“Ma’am,” Ron calls unthinkingly. “Excuse me.”

He strides toward them even as they turn his way, letting Jamie to the ground at the end of the aisle. Jamie, content to be with his new friends, stays in place and hangs onto the hem of Ron’s jacket. He shoots a confused look up at Ron, and then shrugs at the two ladies. “Hi again.”

“Hello,” the newer one says, sharing an amused look with Ruth.

Ron clears his throat. He gestures to their basket. “Would you let me help you with that?”

Ruth gives him yet another knowing smile. “Lynn,” she says, “this is the nice young man and his son that I got distracted making friends with.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lynn says. She shares another long look with Ruth, a thousand things passing between them thanks to decades of practice, and then nods. She hands the basket off to Ron. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Ron just nods, biting his lip and gripping the basket in one hand, the other resting on Jamie’s shoulder. The two women don’t seem inclined to make him respond. Instead they turn and head toward check-out, hands still folded together. Ruth throws him a wink over her shoulder.

Jamie tugs on his coat and says, “Good job, Daddy.”

“What?” Ron asks, surprised.

He looks down at Jamie, who is looking back at him with a happy smile. Jamie wraps an arm around his thigh and half hugs him, the other arm keeping a tight grip on his whale, and explains, “You made friends.”

Ron drops a hand to his son’s hair and nods, speechless for reasons he won’t examine right now. Jamie doesn’t seem to need any further response. He looks back at the floor and starts humming to himself as they walk.

No one ever tells you about this part, either.


End file.
